


the Stages of Becoming Not like Myself

by sugarby



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: AU, Drama, Gen, Horror-ish, M/M, Tokyo Ghoul AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In less than two weeks there's a drastic change; seen differently but ultimately about to conclude to the same end is a consequence Noiz thinks they'll get through while Aoba knows they can't go back to what or who they were before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. C h a n g e

**Author's Note:**

> I guess you can call this my submission for Halloween. I started planning and writing this as soon as I finished Tokyo Ghoul because it's 10/10/10/10/10/10 a really nice anime and I'm ecstatic about the second season in January.
> 
> Enjoy, and be mindful because I wasn't sure how to tag without giving out spoilers.

>   _It's gonna work out, Aoba." Noiz will promise, even though he technically won't be able to completely guarantee it._
> 
> _The sobbing, crying, shaken up, traumatized mess that'll be Aoba won't agree, shaking his head. "It's not!..." He'll argue in a croaky voice. "Don't you know that already?..." There's no chance that, after all the crying and screaming he'll have done for days on end, that his mind won't be clear enough to predict a seemingly obvious and cruel outcome._  
>    
>  _In all sorts of ways, that'll sound more promising than what Noiz said._  
>    
>  _Noiz will take hold of Aoba's pale face in his own hands that are bandaged up to the wrist, slide his thumbs across the dampened cheeks and gaze straight at the face that won't have changed from eleven days ago as far as he's concerned. "I'm not giving in to this. And if you want to stay at my side then I don't expect you to either."_

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day 1** **  
21st October, 11:48am - East District, Central Library**

 

Two hands belonging to two separate people reach for the same slick black leather, eye-catching silver font book out on display at the end of the aisle.

       One hand, gloved in an oddly fashion with the fingers and palm exposed, belongs to a senior college student whose hair is rather long and an unusual splitting shade of blue. The other hand, slightly crooked and bandaged up from the curve of the wrist, ending under a green studded accessory, belongs to a young man who looks older than a high school senior with unkempt blond hair and an unpleasant expression.

The strangers stop to look at each other.

       "Sorry. I didn't think you were gonna make a grab for it too." The college senior talks first with an awkwardly formed smile, chuckling light enough for it to seem like faux air. "I was looking to check this out for my thesis."

       "And I'm writing a paper." Parries the high school senior, disregarding what the former just said.

       "What on?"

It's not any of his business but he gets an answer, "The contrast between past and modern evolution; one thing transitioning into another."

     "Oh, really?" The college senior remarks, surprised. He wouldn't have guessed he and a stranger would want to take out the same book for a reason so alike. The odds astound him, that's some concurrence there. "If you give me a sec then—can I just write something down?"

 _'No'_...is generally the high school senior's answer when asked to do a favour that he's convinced he'll no doubt later have to pay back. But it isn't often he, or anyone, he guesses, is in a situation like this, and he can tell the stranger is the persistent negotiable type who'll keep asking until he gets a yes.

       "Be quick."

The college senior nods and smiles appreciatively in thanks before he grabs the book; pulling it out by the top of its spine and catching it in its descent in to his palm with a thick clap. Thumb turning over the cover, he flicks passed the pages about copyright and the 'thanks to...' messages until he's on the first page where there's a heading that reads; "Differences in Changes: Modern Era of Humanity's Transition." The book balances open in one hand, and with the free hand the college senior starts patting himself down, feeling for the pen he's slow to remember is in his back jeans' pocket. When he takes it out and clicks down the head for the blue inked ballpoint to protrude, he copies down the first sentence—or rather, introductory definition—on the skin of his left arm securing the book.

>       _ **Becoming (n)**  - the process of coming to be something or of a passing in to a state.'_

Of all the crucial points anyone writing a paper on evolution can jot down, the high school senior with his head poking outwards a little to watch wonders why the stranger chose a definition any dictionary could supply him with.

       "There, all done." The college senior clicks down pen and hands the book over. "Thanks, kid."

       "...I'm not a kid." The blond says when he finally does take hold of the book after staring at it and the extended arm long enough.

       "Sorry, you look...young...how old are you exactly?"

       "Nineteen."

       "And you're writing a paper on contrasting evolution?!"

       "What about it?"

      "It's just close to what my class is doing at the moment, that's all. My thesis is on progression and I figured why not do it about ghouls? Specifically the cause and symptoms of their change and if there's a possibility of a cure or of them learning to control their hunger."

People can do a lot of crazy stunts when they're starving, and cannibalism is currently the most common way of dealing with it. Ghouls are  _monsters_ , to quote the general panicking public—more or less the seven o'clock news reporter, Ken Hibiki, who loves to yammer on and on about those "disgusting, heartless, insatiable demons that are ruining humanity". That just sounds like total talk of a man who's afraid to go against ghouls by himself and needs back up; wise, but pointless since ghouls are equipped with weapons that vary in speed and strength, and all are used nearly effortlessly to knock down their prey and secure their inability to escape.

And then... _CHOMP!_

       "What do you think it's like? To be a ghoul, I mean." The college senior asks, not directly looking at him, eyes on his weirdly designed shoes instead of the face he might not like the expression of. "Do you think they ever feel troubled sometimes? And lonely? Helpless?"

As in, do they feel the same horrifying rush as their prey—humans—do when they hunt them down and take away their lives?

...It's doubtful.

       "I'm sure they're always too hungry to care." says the high school senior.

The college senior lets a weak smile show. He looks, perhaps, disappointed. Then again, what can he expect from a stranger? What kind of answer can he expect when he isn't ready for what he can't predict coming? He's the hopeful, wishful-thinking kind when in dire, awful consequential situations, and that must be why he's asking. Since he can't help what hasn't yet happened, he wants to be prepared somehow, presumably.

        "...Yeah," the college senior's sigh is soft, and shadowed by a heavy emotion. "You're probably right."

 

 

 

**19:10 - Southern District Apartment Complex, Floor 14, Door 3.**

 

Blank, white, and missing a couple hundred words, the unwritten first page of the high school senior's paper on contrasting evolution is still as it was left a day and couple hours ago.

       In better terms, it's a working progress.

After putting in the number code on the key pad security system outside, he goes in to his apartment. It's a spacious, luxurious and expensive-to-rent place that close to zero college students can afford to even dream of living in—he'd comment on how being born in to a wealthy family has it's "perks" but he didn't choose a life of solitude for himself, it just came to be that way: the one or two friends he ever did actually make were swapped for business dinners and lessons on high etiquette, and then that one room...a room he had to adapt to, a room that is the cause of loneliness—something he's all too familiar with now.

      Harlequin green eyes glare at the lit up laptop screen and the blank white word document. Usually, he can manage twenty pages or more in less than an hour on most subjects (bonus points if it's to do with computer technology, geography and mathematics), but having to sit and think and put together a detailed essay on past vs modern evolution? What's different exactly? Where's the change? Because he can't see it. People are still selfish, only doing favours so they're get one in return. And they still have annoying or sketchy agendas. And the days still last for twenty-four hours he could spend in a better place rather than on this deadbeat island.

So as far as evolution's going, it's nowhere interesting.

      _"These days, it's being proven that we shouldn't be afraid of not paying our bills or forgetting to post a letter or leaving the tap in the upstairs bathroom running, but of ghouls; repulsive, insatiable, thoughtless, rampaging demons that ruin lives on a daily curriculum!"_ It's the well-watched seven o'clock news and anchorman, Ken Hibiki, is going off on one again with a clenched fist and determined glare at the camera so it's like he's leering at his audience. _"Who they were when or if they were human is long gone because they don't care whom they eat as long as they can fill their stomachs! Nevermind how young little Sakura on her way home from school or how old Ms. Asuka in her grocery store is! As I speak to you live, you could very well be near a ghoul! It could be waiting outside your home or be one of your followers on facebook!"_

The high school senior snorts at the amusing-to-make-on-live-television error,  _'followers on facebook? There are certainly two types of idiots'_.

        Ken Hibiki carries on (ignorant to his female co-anchor next to him leaning away in discomfort), _"Forget about waiting for the mainland to send help with reinforcements. And forget about that nice stranger you just met who you thought was nice and innocent! By tomorrow, they very well may be hunting you down! What this island and my fellow co-residents need isn't hope and it damn sure as hell isn't a way to understand these demons! What we need is a life without ghouls so that humanity can show us all a peaceful side and we can get on with our lives!"_

       "Heh. What peaceful side?" Snorting again, the high school senior asks aloud.

Underneath Hibiki's scowl and his co-anchorwoman who's just getting them back on track by taking over with other world wide news is the highlighted strip of today's breaking news headline about a newly sighted ghoul being the culprit of a few recent murders, and how Police Chief, Akushima, and his squad are still searching for it.

       "Good luck with that." Of course, he doesn't genuinely mean that at all. 

But it's occurring to him now that with all this waffling on about ghouls; creatures that were only scarcely heard of in a book but have now got the island in a panic, there's an advantage to being around it, even if what he mainly hears is in-depth opinions spun insanely out of proportion. There's no concrete plan of going about this yet, because how do you explain change as if you understand it when you don't? Specifically about the evolution of something you see as black and white. Ken Hibiki is a lot of things (hysterical being near the top) but his categorization for ghouls isn't a far stretch of the truth.

        As the high school senior also sees it, ghouls are emotionless beings that don't care about anything other than their next meal.

Writing just that however isn't even going to get him a single mark on his paper. And he'll bet the book he checked out from the library has plenty more to say about them as well, if not what the guy he met at there today went on about, the blue haired, casual talker holding an uncommon curiosity about the world's current number one enemy. So maybe this paper can be written. In the very least, he can write about how in the past ghouls may as well have been fragments of an imaginative dark dream compared to them frequenting now and getting the cops' pants all wet.

_Tap tap tap tap_

_Smack, tap, smack_

_Tap tap,_

_Smack_

_Tap, smack, tap tap tap._

Two paragraphs that make up an introduction on evolution are written and the high school senior thinks it's enough for now. A hot shower is a definite yes, and when he's finished he slips on a long sleeved plain, dark colored t-shirt and a pair of boxers and gets in to his bed, back of his head hitting the pillow and his eyes staring up at the spotless cream ceiling. From there, a thoughtful trail commences, about ghouls.

_'If a monster can kill so easily then they don't feel.'_

_'That just makes humans more weak since they're always feeling something.'_

_'...What's so great about feeling anything?'_

It's a question he's asked a lot but still hasn't gotten an answer for. He isn't particularly close to anyone so human relationships are something else he doesn't understand. Yet somehow, some guy he's not met before has entered his mind and is rewiring his thoughts slightly to influence him to have additional side-queries on said monsters he swears he's already gotten the main gist of.

         Before he closes his eyes and sleeps, he reckons there's something about ghouls and humans being clumped together as monsters that doesn't make them so different.

 

 

 

 

**Day 2  
22nd October, 12:00 - Aoyagi Street**

 

         "...It's you!"

On the curve of entering a new street, honey and crisp tangerine color turned leaves scattered around his feet and some being whisked away by the chill Autumn air, the high school senior looks over his shoulder and sees the guy he met at the library the other day, wearing a thick scarf and coat longer and warmer looking than his Brain Nuts one and his long unusual blue hair tied up in a loose ponytail.

         What are the odds of them meeting again like this?

The college senior feels a little a shy after randomly calling a stranger out and starts fiddling with the ends of his woolen scarf. "I-Is the book any good?..." He casually asks to get a conversation going. Anything to decrease the weight of the questionable stare he's getting. "In the end I couldn't do a lot with just the definition I copied. So I'm wondering if maybe when you're done...you won't mind lending it to me?"

        "Why?" asks the high school senior.

        "Why?...don't you remember? I told you that I'm writing a thesis on—"

        "I mean why should I lend it to you?" The blond rephrases in a strong tone. "I don't know you to do you any favours, and it's the same for you owing me anything." At least, it should be. If evolution has hinted anything, it's that the world works in a give-and-take system where nothing is for free or without a bounty.

The college senior looks stuck on the spot. He didn't guess calling out to the guy he let check out the book he's been waiting months to have before him would put him under some pressure—the stern eyes under a circumstance the high school senior doesn't seem to hold patience for.

       "That's true," the college senior starts to make his case. "But I did let you have the book even though I needed it just as much." He can see from the younger's same unimpressed expression that his case isn't being made _well_ , so he scraps it and presents a suggestion. "Okay, how about this: let's be on a first name basis and then we won't be strangers anymore. Sound fair?" He has the nerve to volunteer the silence as the go-ahead and puts on a fresh smile. "Nice to meet you again, I'm Aoba Seragaki. Your name is...?"

        "...."

        "Uh, your name?"

 _'He really is the persistent type, I was right.'_  the high school freshman ticks his assumption to be correct and says, "Noiz."

       "Wha-? I'm not noisy!... _teh_ , I wouldn't have to keep asking if you'd tell me and quit acting like a...a...like a brat!"

       " _My name_  is  _Noiz_."

       "....Oh." Aoba mumbles in a low voice, and his hazel eyes scan around the ground for a bit before he has the confidence to talk again. "Listen, I'm sort of glad we've run in to each other again. Most people don't put in their own cents about ghouls. I guess it's kinda hard to. What, with the seven o'clock news on every other night. But you did, and I just thought that maybe...since we're both writing about a similar topic, that we could...discuss ghouls further?"

       Noiz raises an eyebrow, wondering  _why_. His class has been assigned to write about evolution but that's it. _Personally_ , he has no interest or real insight when it comes to ghouls.

       Aoba takes the silence as a  _no_  this time. "Sorry...okay, forget it, it's fine. No problem. You can just return the book whenever and I'll check it out. It's fine, I can totally do my research on the internet." He nods to assure himself, but realizes next that the internet connection at home is slow; practically useless. So really, as handy as his cellphone is, he was counting on getting that book and writing a really amazing thesis.

      Noiz hears every mumble and shrugs, and solely out of pity says, "Yeah, whatever then."

      "Really?"

      "Weird. You ask me out on a date and you're surprised I accepted."

      "It's because you didn't seem to want to at first. And it's not a date!"

Noiz turns around to walk round the corner and carries on up the street to The Aqua White Cafe and pulls on the door to enter, just barely looking over his shoulder at Aoba following closely behind.

 

 

 

**12:25 - The Aqua White Cafe**

They pick a booth at the front next to the window that's crafted to showcase light paintings of jellyfish and other underwater creatures to improve the effects of the theme following the name of the establishment. And no sooner after sitting down (across from each other), they're greeted by a waiter with a cheery tone, polite and childish pronunciation, and hair the color of early winter.

      Aoba asks for coffee, black with no sugar. Noiz says he wants waffles and sausages with a free sachet of ketchup.

     "Alright-y, here you are." the waiter, "Clear says after fetching their orders and nicely setting them down on their table. The bell above the door rings again to signal that more customers have just come in. He bows and wishes the two customers he's just served a good meal before he leaves to greet the new faces.

     Noiz digs in to his food, sicking a fork into the sausage and taking a bite. He hums at the taste he isn't going to call special and glances across the table.  "Strange."

     Aoba looks up. "What?"

     "You sitting across from me. It makes this like a date."

     Aoba glares and his cheeks dye pink. "I told you before that this isn't a date!"

     "You're paying for everything, too."

     "Just shut up and eat before your food gets cold!...seriously, this _brat_." He grumbles the last part under his breath but is sure he was heard either way. He snatches up his cup of coffee and becomes satisfied and relieved from the taste of good, strong, sugarless caffeine: everything a college student needs to survive. And coincidentally, the only beverage ghouls can consume. "Did you know? Ghouls can only drink coffee." It hasn't been long since they came in and for a while Aoba worried over how to start their discussion. "And for me, coffee is like a religion. So, least if I was ghoul, I'd be set."

      "Mm."

     "Coffee is one of those hard-to-live-without cravings, isn't it? Like chocolate is for women, I guess. And things like ice-cream and candy and the waffles you're eating, they all taste like stale bread in their mouths, according to what investigators are saying from the research they've got."

      Noiz's nose wrinkles like a rabbit. "I've never liked chocolate to begin with."

      "Seriously?!" Aoba gasps, eyes wide. He puts on a serious smile and teasingly questions, "You a ghoul?"

      "If I am, what business is it of yours?"

      "Hey, relax. And for starters, to dine with a ghoul means I'd be paying for this meal twice in the end, huh."

      Noiz rolls his eyes behind closed lids for a brief moment and when they open again he ignores Aoba's smile that says he's _trying_ and eats parts of his waffles.

_Ding!_

      "Yes, welcome!" Clear says as more customers enter. "Please have a seat wherever you like and I'll be right with you!"

Aoba picks up his cup of coffee again and notes the popularity of the cafe—it won't be long before it's a full house. Fascinated by the waiter's persona that's uncommon but not bad for business, he watches Clear work, sees him smile at everyone, sees how he's always polite, sees how he checks on his customers and sees how he generally seems normal—if someone this eccentric can be called that. He turns and sees Noiz's attention is now elsewhere, on his upgraded version of the latest iPhone. "I almost feel offended, you think your phone is better company than me. What are you even doing on it?"

     "Sending a note to my laptop, for when I continue my paper later." answers Noiz, eyes still on the screen. "This phone is able to store a message and send it to whomever or whatever on the date and time input in advance."

      "Wow, really? That's pretty cool." Aoba, amazed, takes out his own cell phone and looks at it, turns it this way and that, curious about its possible undiscovered features.

      "It's a basic function of any modern phone. But I guess you wouldn't know about that," Noiz includes, smirking at the other phone model. "Mr. Blue Nokia Lumia."

      Aoba pridefully holds the phone to his chest. "As long as the phone can do the necessary stuff like calling and sending a text then I don't need the fancy upgrades."

      "It's idiotic to feel sentimental over shit you can replace when it stops working."  
   
     "That's why I take good care of it, so I don't have to!"

      Noiz stares at him, eyebrows knit together in frustration. "I don't get you at all."

     Aoba opens his mouth to retort but at the last minute adjusts the matter, in light of a relatable thought. "...Do you think ghouls feel?"

The question sounds dumb and obvious. Monsters feeling? It's absurd; Ken Hibiki would have a field day. Yet, it's why Noiz is reflecting on last night. And rather than disregarding a mundane question, he actually does give it a think. His answer is like the one he gave when they first met.

     "Dunno." Noiz says. "But if they eat people effortlessly like they're candy then they probably don't."

     "Yeah...you have a point."

 _'What's with him? He keeps asking me stuff like that. It's odd.'_   thinks Noiz, also thinking it's a bit of a headache to think this much about what he didn't care about just the other day.

They don't talk again for a little while until Clear passes by their table with a plate of a melting chocolate soufflé type dessert, on his way to the customers he last greeted at a table near the back. 

     Noiz gets a strong whiff of it and scrunches up his nose. "Gross."

    "Oh, come on! Everyone loves chocolate!" Aoba exclaims.

    "Not everyone."

     "Maybe you  _are_  a ghoul."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a lot about the name I wanted the anchorman to have. Ken means "healthy, strong" and Hibiki means "echo, sound", which suits the way he presents his views on ghouls really; strongly, with words and a voice that people keep hearing (not just because he's on every night, lol). And yes, the cafe is named after the part of Platinum Jail visited in Clear's route.


	2. D i f f e r e n c e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about a month or two late with this update, sorry. I wanted this entire au finished by November 3rd but I rewrote this chapter a thousand times over (and I still plan to proofread later!). Halloween can be over but I don't want to leave this fic, so here's the next part.
> 
> Better late than never, I hope this isn't shit, enjoy! (っ＾▿＾)っ

**19:43, Eastern District - The Black Needle Bar & Tattoo Shop.**

 

Aoba's still thinking Noiz is a peculiar kid hours after their  _not_  date finishes as good as it possibly can for them, with the eldest leaving first when his junior starts to lay out questions and snarky comments about his unusually long and colored hair, lack of fashion  _and common_  sense, and how easy he is to fluster. That in mind, he's still in need of some good company before he calls it a day and heads home, and he knows just the place and crosses the road to the popular hangout he can say is practically a second sanctuary.

       When he pushes the doors open and steps inside, he takes a look around and is glad to see everything's the same as he remembers. Granted, the way the floors are shinning, he can assume they've been polished recently. But the general relaxing mood of the place and good spirits of the customers as they're head chatting in the back, and how being here makes him feel at home.

Aoba had fretted over the place being in bad shape; the ghoul loose on the island could've easily came and wrecked it all. But thankfully, it's all intact, so he can let a little worry go and he can breathe easier.

      The owner slash manager isn't different either, as far as Aoba can tell from by the door. Mizuki's in the middle of cleaning the inside of a glass when, after he stores it away in a cabinet behind the bar, he notices the customer that's just slipped in and he can't deny his explicit happiness in the grin appearing on his face; it lifts his cheeks and the tear tattoo under his left eye. "Hey, Aoba!" He hollers, and the excitement in his hear rises with his waving hand. "Haha, I don't believe it! So you finally show your face around here." 

       "It's great to see you too." Aoba waves back as he walks over to him and pulls out the first stool against the bar to occupy. 

       "You know it!" replies Muzki as they bump fists, his grin stretching as he's pleased when he insists, "I'll get you a drink, then we can really get this reunion started, yeah?"

       "Thanks." Aoba smiles.

Mizuki walks along his shelves of drinks varying in color and flavour, and each harboring their own recommended way to properly be enjoyed— _consistently_ , if anyone asks him. Whether it's to forget a bothersome part of the past or celebrate with and enjoy the company of good friends. Aoba being a lightweight limits the barman's ability to stretch his skills in shaking up a really good mix, but he does alright with soda and half a shot of Shochu to make Chuhai, and he sends the drink sliding across the bar where it stops in the open expectant gloved hand.

       "It's on me, drink up." Mizuki winks.

Aoba lifts up his drink in thanks then tips it back for the first sip. The Chuhai is weak. It's meant to be, given his inability to hold his liquor. But it tastes good; cool, a little zesty and it's not burning his throat nor is it making the room seem like it's an out of sync merry-go-round that would, by now, have him clutching his aching head and bullshitting.

      Mizuki has his own drink when he comes back and leans on his folded arms on the bar. "Now, tell me what's been going on with you lately. And don't leave anything out 'cause I'll know," he warns, pointing a single finger taken off the glass. "I only need to give you maybe three or five of those to get you good and drunk enough for you to start spilling stories like the Grimm brothers."

       "R _eal_  classy." Aoba says, exaggerating an eye roll. "Put dinner on the table first,  _at least_. I'm not an easy guy."

     "We could. I mean, I know of a place." Mizuki suggests, and he pretends he's more than half serious, in his thinking pose; thumb stationed to the side of his chin and his finger going back and forth across it. It doesn't stick beyond the eight seconds it takes for his grin to return. "But, since you eat Tae's cooking everyday I figure anything else is gonna taste shit. I dunno, like, stale bread or something."

Mizuki isn't wrong because plenty of people would kill just to be able to smell Tae Seragaki's delicious cooking, let alone eat it. But the comparison used gets Aoba thinking about how his grandmother's food will taste different in the perspective of a ghoul. Unlike when he, or anyone else welcomed to it, eats it, it won't taste warm or sweet or salty, or full of love—which, according to Ken Hibiki, are things soulless monsters can't experience.

       "How is Tae by the way? And Sei?"

       "G-Good. They're both fine."

       "Right. And you?"

     "I'm..." Aoba frequents between worrisome and anxious these days but he can't say why. So he considers mentioning Noiz instead, and then  _re_ considers as he presumes someone with a shamelessly blunt (and somewhat vain in some areas) attitude is only going to get under the barman's skin. "...Good." He repeats the weak adjective. "I'm fine. Same old, same old, you know?...How about this place?" Aoba checks over his shoulder and sees the place isn't nearly packed. "You usually have a full house."

      "Yeah," Mizuki seems to know what he's talking about, by his sigh and low tone tone and glum face. "Can't do anything about it though. It's the murders happening on the island. It's got people scared to hang about places they don't need to be." He keeps on with his glumness but before long, he's smiling again, wanting to keep his spirits up. "At least you and a few other familiar faces still stop by. It means a lot to me."

       Aoba hums, understandingly. "I know things are hectic but you have to believe there are still people who won't abandon this place or you. You can definitely be sure I never will, Mizuki."

       "Shucks, Aoba. Didn't think I'd be talking you into a confession."

       "Huh?..." Aoba blinks, momentarily confused before he does get it and he glares, cheeks flaring red. "Hey, it's not like that!"

      Mizuki begs to differ, just to tease him, grinning as he leans into a palm. "You tend to be open with your feelings more when you're. I remember once, you got shitfaced and poured your heart out to a cactus." Moreover, the one in its pot sitting on a small mantelpiece behind him with a big red ribbon tied around; a gift from a secret admirer with an apparent eccentric tweak to his way of thinking.

       "That never happened, shut up!"

Mizuki laughs while Aoba scowls, but before the former can mention witnesses being present at the hilarious time, a third voice comes from the tv stationed above their heads, presenting the evening's news breaking headline:

        " _—the number of deaths by flesh consumption has risen to eight victims in less than a week._  reports Asuki Suzuma, the seven o'clock in the evening news's co-anchorwoman. " _There is currently no lead on the identity of the ghoul responsible, or how it came to Midorijima after Toue Inc. put in place strict regulations to do with leaving and entering the island, but police task forces have been stationed throughout the districts, and police officer, Akushima, says he's adamant on apprehending the ghoul for questioning—"_

       " _HURRY UP AND COME OUT, GHOOOUUL!"_   Akushima screams into his megaphone, so loud and abrupt the screen has to switch from Asuki in the news headquarters to him and his task force live in the Northern district, red and blue lights spinning from the tops of their cars behind. _"Your identity right now is a big mystery so you must think you're pretty special huh? Haha, no, no, don't misunderstand."_ He wags a finger left to right in a dangerous and smug manor.

People watching the news right now can see Asuki in the small box positioned in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen sigh and glance away from the live filming; Aoba and Mizuki mutually feel bad for her.

       " _Listen up, punk!_ _I may not know your identity right now but that doesn't mean shit, because soon...I WILL HAVE YOUR TERRORIZING ASS IN CUSTODY, YOU SICK SHIT! AND I'M GONNA GIVE YOU THE FUCKING DEEAAAATH PENAALLLTY!"_

The live footage goes and Asuki Suzuma returns to the screen in a flick, startled but professionally able to go into another topic with a smile on her dazzling face. Mizuki's still got his eyes on the screen; the contentedness he felt not long is being drown out by another feeling after watching that news report. To Aoba, it's something like watching a flame's merry flickers dim down and fade into darkness.

         Mizuki grabs the cloth he was previously using and starts rubbing it over nothing but the reflection of his melancholic face, rather than a stain or beverage spill. "The island's a lot less peaceful now because it's still on the loose."

         "It?..."

         "The  _ghoul_ , Aoba."

         "Well, they're not easy to catch. They have speed, strength and agility beyond our capabilities or understanding."

         "Are you seriously praising murderers?!"

         "N-No! I'm just—it's what I know from the police's notes! As for knowing their identities, they're clever, they wear masks."

         "Fucking...shit." Mizuki curses and the cloth srunches up in his shaking fist.

Aoba can't believe how quickly their reunion has turned into a clashing debate. He can't believe how Mizuki's gone from relaxed to sour and how he looks as if he's edging to sinister, despite how he  _does_  know of the tragic reason. It's Mizuki's prerogative but he needs to be calmed before things escalate to a dangerous place.

        "Mizuki, I know you lost your teammates way back when they were killed by two ghouls, but...I don't know—I'm not sticking up for them, but don't you think hating all of them for what  _two_  of them have done is a bit irrational?" Aoba doesn't mean to sound un-supportive but there's still a great deal about ghouls he and the rest of the world haven't figured out yet. What if they aren't totally right about what they've uncovered so far; about them being without souls or shame or regret;  _feelings_?

        "Tell me you're joking right now." Mizuki says in a sort of dark tone, half chuckling at what sounds like a punch line to a joke told terribly wrong. "Ha...haha! Whether it's one or two, a ghoul is a ghoul; a cold hearted monster--"

         "Mizuki—"

         "And I hate every last fucking one of them!"

Aoba stares, helpless.

        Mizuki stares back, pissed, and frustrated in so many ways because he wasn't able to save his teammates—teammates who were practically  _family_  to him. One night, two ghouls appeared in the alleyway he and his teammates planned to cut through and from there...it's was massacre; the cries of his teammates as they were mercilessly attacked, their flesh chomped on, and most of their blood sipped up before it could run cold on the concrete. For some reason, Mizuki was been spared. And he once believed it was to do with having bad blood—back when he was clueless and naive. But whatever the reason, he doesn't care, because he has the opportunity to pay back those blond ghouls, to wipe off their menacing grins that the moonlight highlighted, while he, all the while, howled in despair at his great loss. 

It's a night Mizuki will never forget.

        "Back then, I took your interest in ghouls seriously and thought if you could understand them then maybe they weren't as bad as the media makes them out to be." Mizuki thinks back to the days when Aoba would rush into the The Black Needle with the latest notes on ghouls, how he'd discuss theories, and how easier it was to hope for humanity to have a great defense. "But now, with everything that's happening on the island, I know all of that's bullshit."

         "Mizuki, we don't know they're all the same!"

         "The hell they're not!" Mizuki snaps and smacks down on the bar with a fist. It startles Aoba, disappointed, into a jump. "And If I ever see a ghoul again— _when_  those  _two bastards_  cross my path, I'm gonna fucking rip their tongues out and their throats apart!"

Aoba's near speechless from the furious unload of frustration and regret in one. This is what ghouls—just their existence alone—can do to a person. They can tear lives apart like arms and legs, they can input raging emotions like how their teeth sink into flesh, and they can shake humanity with a panic the way two of them shook Mizuki and a part of his world once upon an unfortunate night.

 _'But...'_ , the college senior finds he still wants to believe, ' _they can't all be the same. Not every single one of them, surely'_.

         Mizuki eventually calms, and the obvious shame and guilt hang over him like a veil. "...Shit! Aoba, I'm—damn it! Fuck!" how's he meant to properly apologise for becoming so irate all of a sudden? "Sorry. I'm sorry...." He sighs heavily and hangs his head for a bit. When he looks up, there's a small but growing smile. "Geez, Koujaku would hate to hear me going on like that."

        Aoba knows this is Mizuki's  ~~sloppy~~  way of trying to move on and he takes it, gratefully. It's not in his nature to give someone a hard time for having different views anyway. "You've only now just thought of that?" He asks, a light scoff later, and smiling. "He'd totally give you a mouthful!"

        Mizuki smiles more. "Speaking of Koujaku, he hasn't been here in a while. Man, he better not be sick."

        ".....Ah, y-yeah."

It's been almost two weeks since he's seen Koujaku and in that time he's sent texts and made calls that haven't been replied to. It's awfully strange of him to not show his face so naturally people have been worried. Aoba's been on this case for some time and has his suspicions, but in the long run he hopes they won't turn out to be more than running theories.

        He doesn't want anything else on the island to change.

        Mizuki's in his thinking pose again when he speaks. "He's rarely sick. It's like the universe loves him or something." 

       "You're not wrong." Aoba laughs as he rises from his stool; it's time he head off for home. ' _He's right'_ , he thinks in assurance,  _'Koujaku's never sick so it wouldn't make sense for him to suddenly be ill with a cold or something.'_  "I'll stop by his place tomorrow and see how he is." 

       "Nice one." Mizuki salutes the plan with a thumbs up and bumps his his fist against Aoba's for the final time this evening. "Alright, watch your back on your way home."

       "Mm, you too."

       "And stop by more often!" Mizuki calls out, waving him off. "See you later."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day 3  
23rd October, 18:02 - **   **Koujaku's Apartment.**

 

Aoba catches Koujaku at the right time, when he's seconds from knocking on the door before it opens and the latter is hurrying out and nearly runs straight into him.

       They go through the awkward  _hey-haven't-seen-you-in-two-weeks_  greetings. Then someone thinks it's acceptable to try and excuse themselves from the impromptu visit; Koujaku bullshits through a story he doesn't spend enough minutes planning while being pushed back into his bachelor pad-styled apartment with Aoba following closely behind, mumbling _yeah_ and _uh huh, sure_ and nodding to every word, and a container of his grandmother's delicious homemade donuts tucked under his free arm.

The door shuts behind with a soft click and it's like a signal; it settles the fact they're, at long last, in each other's company—just the two of them. They stand in the living room, still in the awkward phase. Koujaku coughs here and there under Aoba's intensely watching eyes.

       "You've been acting strange." Aoba unwraps his scarf from round his neck and unbuttons his long coat. "Mizuki was saying the other night when I stopped by to see him that he hasn't seen much of you." He lays his autumn clothing beside his occupancy on one of the two long red couches, and stills looks up at his friend. "Is...everything with you alright?"

Koujaku eyes the free space beside the lain clothes which he normally would take up in a heartbeat. Aoba notices this as well and a dread tugs on his heart. He opens his mouth to speak but Koujaku turns away and rubs his slinged arm tentatively, feeling out of place all of a sudden like he doesn't belong. And the desire to address whatever's going on isn't there anymore, so it isn't brought up, for both their sakes.

       "So, what have you been up to all this time then?" Aoba asks instead. "Mizuki and I miss you."

     "...Sorry." Koujaku says after a time of silence that lead the college senior to believe he wouldn't get an answer. "Work's been hectic lately. People have been calling to reschedule appointments even though I've told them many times I just open up shop whenever. But I'm not annoyed. They're my loyal customers after all." He puts on his famous smile, the one where his gorgeous eye smile shows (it excuses him from seeing Aoba eye roll at hearing him praise his all female customers). "But I'm fine, really. In fact, I'm taking the day off tomorrow."

       "Oh? Great, then you can hang out with me and a friend."

       "I thought you saw Mizuki just yesterday?"

       "I have other friends besides you and Mizuki, hippo!" The nickname, going back to an earlier time in their friendship, comes out of his mouth before he knows it, but hearing it feels like things really are okay for them, like they're normal, like his dread and worry and anxiety are silly. 

       Koujaku laughs. "My bad. Who is she then?"

       "Who says they're a girl?"

       "No one, just, well...sorry, I didn't know you swing  _that_  way."

       "What? Come off it! No one's swinging anything anyway—a friend is a friend!" Aoba turns away, hot-headed, and mumbles about having more than half a mind to un-invite Koujaku and his teasing ways, and his stupid laugh, his stupid grin too and his stupid everything to any kind of hangout! "Are you coming or not?!" he snaps, side glancing expectantly.

       "The way you're talking gives me the impression that I don't have a say either way."

       "R-Right! Mm." Aoba clears his throat and tries to be confident in his demand. "You're basically a hostage in this situation. I came here to tell you about your kidnapping tomorrow in advance."

       "Is that so?...Pft—hahahaha!"

It sounds like quite the mockery and Aoba nears storming over to pinch Koujaku's nose, because as strange as he sounded trying to come across one hundred percent threatening, he meant every single word! But he hears it more and interprets it as the sound of the friend he's had and known for longest time returning to his old self, with no concerns or possible secrets holding him back—a free spirited sound that's deep but soft and real. It's irritatingly aimed at how childish but very cute Aoba can be but it'S also assuring where it counts; in the heart feeling less tugs, in the mind less swamped with negative theories, and in the free space on the couch beside Aoba which Koujaku takes in the next second.

       Aoba feels at home; like this is how they're meant to be and it's where Koujaku belongs, like nothing's changed, like there isn't a difference anywhere.

       "So what's this friend of yours like then?" Koujaku asks as he reclines back into the couch and drapes an arm over the back of it, his hand near winds up near the head of blue hair he so often longs to touch and run his fingers through but doesn't.

       "He's...interesting." Aoba says, trying to find a suitable and fair adjective for an individual like Noiz. "Opinionated but quiet and very blunt. And young too--he's a  _high school_  senior! I swear, kids these days grow up really well, they can pass for twenty-five!" He exclaims in horror because he isn't even that age yet.

      "So he's a kid." Koujaku sighs, disappointed, the ideal of him conversing well with an individual of an age that could make their experiences closely alike--relatable even--fleeting away.

       Aoba shrugs. "I guess."

       "Then don't you think...he and I won't really have a common ground of interest?"

       "Well, look at  _us_. We're the same age apart as he and I and we get along just fine, don't we?" It's strange for Koujaku to question something like that, a man as friendly and willing to give people a chance as he is.  _Unless something's behind the question_ , he worries. "What, you think just 'cause someone's a little different in a way you can't comprehend that they're no good?!"

      "No, sorry. I didn't mean...I wasn't trying to imply..."

      "What?!"

Koujaku glances away from the hard gaze, with an expression that says he might know the feeling of being misjudged. And something inside is telling him there's more to the outburst than badgering Aoba for an answer will reveal. He's messed up and said the wrong thing before—gotten a foot  _and more_  misplaced in his mouth he's let run a bit further than planned in the past (like when he mistook Aoba for a girl), but they've mended things and moved on.

       So what the problem is this time, Koujaku hopes for the same civil outcome rather than their relationship being ruined. "It's nothing..." he rubs at the back of his neck, hand like a damp cloth. "Guess I don't have much of a choice about tomorrow huh?"

      "You never did, hippo!"

That's the nickname Koujaku has practically been branded with since the start of them. He thinks it's nice to hear and that it means nothing's really different. And what's more, the nickname proves he isn't currently  _the biggest jerk-face in the universe_  like Aoba would've called him if he was really upset.

       "Okay then, tomorrow it is." Koujaku agrees, smiling like he's faintly dazed.

       "Yeah, tomorrow." Aoba tells him once more as he stands to put on his coat and scarf, and head for the door to go.

They've both enjoyed the evening that thankfully didn't go horribly south, and they appreciate that. It means tomorrow has high hopes— _better_  hopes than what they might've predicted, had they not hung today. And Koujaku, as he waves goodbye to Aoba, supposes it's fine for things between them to end on a good note like this. But while he supposes this, another part of him supposes it must also be fine for something bad to happen between now and tomorrow—because it always can, either to himself or Aoba that would ruin any chance of them meeting again.

        And now, Koujaku  _strongly_  supposes he'd spend the rest of the evening in regret if he hadn't stopped college senior at the last minute, a hand on his wrist. "W-Wait, Aoba..." He watches Aoba turn around and lend him undivided attention though a curious set of eyes. Koujaku licks his lips and speaks with an urgency and a hesitance. "Uh, recently, I've been feeling strange...." He swallows and nothing goes down his throat. "There's something I probably should've mentioned before, but it's--I'm not sure how to say it. It's serious and...hard to say."

Aoba glances down at the hand around his wrist; he sees the jitters in the shaky fingers, then how it slowly releases its grip on him to fiddle with the sleeve of the kimono, how the adam's apple bobs out now and again, and Koujaku's inability to hold eye contact—not to mention the way he stumbled over his words and paused a lot. These all clarify for Aoba that whatever he's meant to listen to, whatever needs to be said, with Koujaku so uncomfortable, it can wait. 

         _There's definitely a better time and place_ , Aoba thinks, patting one of the two stiff shoulders. "Hey, it's fine, don't worry. You can say what you need to tomorrow."

       "Tomorrow?...Sure, that's fine." Koujaku sighs but not in relief. And he's calling out to Aoba at the last minute again. "Wait, you forgot the doughnuts!" He hurriedly grabs the container from the center table and holds it out to be taken from his clammy hands.

        Aoba blinks at the doughnuts, at Koujaku, and laughs. "I left them on purpose, they're for you, stupid."

        Koujaku stares, dumbfounded. "For...me?"

       "Uh huh. There's at least six in there, lucky you." Aoba waves again, the other hand on the door handle; pushing it down to open the door, "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow." and this time, he isn't stopped from leaving.

Koujaku hears the door close with its soft click and he stands behind it for a bit, in silence; pondering.  _It's funny_ , he thinks as he stands, staring at where his closest friend just was. He doesn't mean the doughnuts, but...of the many things he's felt lately 'lucky' isn't one of them. Perhaps before, if he looks back he may remember. But luck and good karma haven't been easy to believe in for some time.

       He thumbs open the lid and peeks inside and there the doughnuts are; gorgeously golden and crisp on the outside like the face of an autumn morning, and presumably irresistibly tasting on the inside, and all for him. He closes down the lid and tucks the container under an arm and hears the baked goods rattle about inside on the journey out of the living room.

       Outside not far from the apartment, the traffic gate lifts up at the crossing and flashes its light green. Aoba's a step away from crossing over when he curses, remembering he forgot to take back the container. His grandmother will murder him. It was a birthday gift from his brother (her favourite twin, he sometimes thinks in sour moments). He groans and turns back around in the direction of Koujaku's apartment, which he doesn't expect to not have been locked yet but it saves him having to shout and sound desperate like he's already eager to see Koujaku again—as if!

       Aoba shudders at the switch in temperature as he returns to the living room, sees Koujaku's no longer there and starts calling. "Koujaku!...Koujaku!" He looks this way and that for him—freezes in his direction of the kitchen when he swears he's just heard something. "Koujaku, it's me." He says to the sound. "I almost forgot, granny wants me to bring back the container. Trust her, since it's from Sei and all."

Still, no reply.

      "We can put the doughnuts on a plate and—"

_'Bhu--Ulghak!...Hah...ha-ak-gh!...'_

Aoba flinches at the sound that jumps at him—suddenly, and clearer. It's a forceful, disturbed, hacking sound, and it's coming from in the bathroom. And he hears it again; definitely makes out the echo of a plummeting liquid, and the feelings that had kept Aoba from visiting sooner revisit in a rush. He keeps still, frozen, anxious that the next move he makes—a misstep—might distort the situation further.

       The container isn't so important anymore. Aoba's sure his grandmother will sympathize (he imagines she'll make him some tea and try to get him through this, rather than nag at him for his absent-mindedness). At least, she would if he was planning on telling her. But, unlike the vomiting he can hear, the words won't come out; thoughts won't settle and stop scribbling negatives like dark graffiti.  

He hears the toilet flush and takes it as his queue for a quick exit--make it like he was never here again, because if he wants to avoid an even more awkward confrontation with Koujaku, then as far as he's concerned, he  _wasn't_.

        Along with Aoba, two other things are gone; his confidence, for a start, in being ready to address Koujaku with a pressing matter that's been nibbling at him for a bit. And a huge chunk from one of the doughnuts sprawled out on the floor, hurled across the room by seething emotions shadowing a helpless man's vision with red, salt water and a dark future.

 

 

 

 

**Day 4  
24th October, 14:20 - Midorijima College.**

 

The three-man hangout ends the way it starts; horribly. It seemed a good idea in Aoba's head—there, the idea of three men finding a common ground despite having gaps in their experiences like the developing gums of an infant didn't sound unlikely to happen. There, the plan was still in the works so it seemed limitless, expandable, the three of them having coffee and ending up as best friends didn't sound bad either.

         It was  _worse_.

The coffee thing happened. Oh, it happened alright. No sooner after returning with their orders, Aoba became the spectator of his two companions' fight; Noiz said one thing and Koujaku got angry, then Noiz decided to throw his piping hot coffee at Koujaku's face and Koujaku retaliated by shoving his jammy scone into Noiz's. How they kept getting into tense conversations couldn't be explained. It was like any roll of either of their tongues got the other's furiously going, followed by curse words and hard nudges thought to be hidden from Aoba's eyes and shoves into solid objects—Aoba's eyes flicker to Noiz stumbling out of his shove into the lamppost along the sidewalk of the street they're walking up, and he shakes his head and sighs, exhausted.

        "That's child abuse. I can get you arrested."

        "I'm not giving you anything your bad attitude doesn't deserve."

        "Whatever, not like I need to listen to your bitching." says Noiz as he rolls his shoulder back, hearing it crack, and side glares at the eldest man. "You're just some ancient bore."

        Koujaku snaps, "And you're a shit-talking beansprout with a giant fucking head!"

       At this point, Aoba can't leave it to the cold to freeze their jaws shut. "Alright, enough! You're both acting like kids, just knock it off already!" He turns to look back over his shoulder and shout, giving them both unimpressed hard looks.

        "It's _him_." says Koujaku, glaring at the high school senior.

        "Is not, _it's you_." Noiz begs to differ, glaring back at him.

       "I said that's enough!" Aoba yells again. It's  _both_  of them—unbelievable! He can't have been out of his mind suggesting they all spend the day together. He wanted to be shown how people without similar interests or aspects about themselves could still get along; like Koujaku and himself—they're pretty close. And his twin brother isn't much like him, if at all—his brother's natural late-evening colored haired a mega obvious difference to his own natural blue, but they love the hell out of each other, still. 

The point of the hangout, Aoba's reminding himself over Koujaku and Noiz's bickering behind, was to prove that difference doesn't necessarily mean defective—or no good, or hopeless. He wanted to prove—mostly to his doubts, but as well as anyone wondering—that being different doesn't have to have a sad conclusion; that people are different but not necessarily bad, that...at some awful point in time he can't pin, there won't be any reason for him and Koujaku to drift apart. 

        Koujaku's notices the crestfallen, thinking too hard look on his close friend and feels guilty, feels he's responsible. He returns Noiz's stab in the stomach with a hard elbow joust in his side and talks to the troubled man ahead, "Sorry, Aoba." He says, sincere. "...But I had a feeling the two of us wouldn't get along. It's just bad chemistry." ' _Real bad'_ , but he won't say it out loud and upset Aoba more. Maybe he wasn't exactly excited about meeting a new friend, but Aoba was—thought it would do some good, actually, but he wasn't looking at a formed friendship; instead, a plan that had birthed brightly but had quickly dimmed.

        Aoba sighs into the palm of the hand covering his face. "Yeah, okay, I get it." Koujaku's attempts to lift his spirits are poor. He's basically saying  _'I told you so'_  . But annoying as it is, he turned out to be right, so is there any point in dragging this on anymore? "Fine. Let me just—I need to check my college library for a sec to see if the book I want is in yet." He calls time of death on the failed three-man friendship, and being as they're heading in the direction of his college anyway, it's convenient timing. 

They don't look none too pleased, Koujaku or Noiz.

        "After that, you two can leave and do whatever." Aoba bargains.

The deal is made there and then; (although really, the two un-cooperating men would sooner keep bickering just to stay with Aoba).

        Aoba leads them up the worn marble staircase, they enter through one of the three double doors, and he continues to walk ahead to the library which is near to half the size of the library in Beauty and the Beast. He goes to the front desk and asks for the specific book and the librarian on duty tells him to wait for a moment or two while she goes in to the back room to check. She leaves the door open without a care, she's watched as she takes out a binder and starts flicking through it, and judging by it's size, Aoba assumes he can believe a moment or two from her perspective is really going to be about half an hour. Now he feels like the guilty party and looks back at Noiz and Koujaku hanging around; Noiz, bored, leg kicking at part of the carpet not properly sealed down, hands in his pockets, and Koujaku giving a small wave and supportive smile, like he doesn't think they'll have to stick around for long (but then  _he sees_  the binder himself, the waving stops and his eyes widen in disbelief).

Aoba gives him a weary agreeable look before turning back round, hunched forward a bit in low spirits as the chunky binder is squashed under two more, chunkier binders. Half an hour, an hour and some—he should've bid goodbye to the sun while it was still light out.

        Koujaku mentally wishes Aoba luck and averts his attention to the rest of the library. It's not like he can converse with Noiz, so he won't bother— _'the little shit head will just run his mouth inappropriately'_ , he grudgingly presumes, and sign or no sign, fighting in a library obviously isn't going to sit well with anyone.

But moments pass—a certain man dressed well in a blue jacket and pants, white shirt and a navy tie layered with silver etchings of skulls walks in, and Koujaku can feel within himself that he _doesn't give a shit_ about any rules anymore, or how breaking them is going upset people and possibly put him in a bad light, or about a lot of the things he supposed the other day during Aoba's visit.

        He would recognise this man—the bastard, life fucker—anywhere. It's only taken so long to because he's had a good cover as a substitute teacher, dipping into not only one subject but any and every sort, particularly art and design, and the sciences—Koujaku learns all this from the one or two students that pass by but stop to converse a little with him. To them, he smiles, sounds easy to talk to, is comfortable to be around, genuine; as if his intentions are to help whoever wants or needs him to. And he made Koujaku feel the same once. But every single good feeling boiled to a bad one in a night. Screams, rushed footsteps, frantically moving shadows on the walls, confusion and terror in countless wide eyes, deadly swings of a weapon much bigger than its youthful wielder, and blood painted onto most parts of the room.

        "Ryuuhou..." In a low tone, Koujaku recites the name of the man he holds responsible, and he starts following him.

Ryuuhou's steps through the gardening aisle are parodied with heavier, faster steps. Scruffy blond hair goes by under the hanging lights in the sciences and developing technology area in a blatant light tone against the long navy ponytail violently swishing behind. Koujaku's hot on his trail, he isn't going to let him go, he's got him where he's wanted him for as long as he can remember. Ryuuhou turns left, then right, Koujaku copies and sees they're reached the end of the medicine aisle with any kind of exit available only if they turn around.

       Ryuuhou does, all smiles--not the least bit flabbergasted by the stalking. He _knew_. "I can tell straight away you're not a student here, but might I be able to help you with something?" He asks, kindly and in the light tone he'd put on for the few students he'd passed.

       It's fake, the tone is, and it makes Koujaku feel sicker. As if this man really has the nerve to speak to him like a confused, little child! "It's one thing to take advantage of a child and look back and smile, but it's another to go on like you didn't do anything wrong, like you and the stuff you've dealt your hands in are normal." He's waited for this moment to confront him, and finally, he can— _is_.

        "Hm?"

        Koujaku glares and shouts, "I know you haven't forgotten me, so don't fuck around!"

       "Ah, you're...." Ryuuhou's raised brows for his put-on confusion drop, the act fades, his lips spreading into a sinister grin. "Koujaku." He says, chuckling. And the owner of the name just spoken as if it's the title of a cherished love song shudders, successfully provoked. "Of course I remember you. My beautiful art, my masterpiece. How can I forget the face of my young muse?"

        "Tch!..." Koujaku was always spoken to like this by him but he never cared for it—always found it unbearably creepy, in fact. Behind Ryuuhou's sweet words, there was always a sick bitterness, a proudly presented sadism.

       "Mm, well," Ryuuhou hums and analyzes the intimidating stance in front of him. He can guess what this is is about, he can tell Koujaku's reaching the end of the rope holding himself back. "I don't deal with Toue or his ghoul experiments anymore," He reveals, believing it's quite a 'shame'. "But I'll always cherish you forever, Koujaku. I've dealt in many experiments, as you said, but you're my favourite."

It isn't what Koujaku wants to hear. Neither is "sorry" or "please spare me, I'm a different man—" because even if Ryuuhou says them and he is serious, it won't mean anything. Nothing he can say will undo his nasty work and the nastier consequences that have come from it. It's alright for him to take all of this as entertainment—a joke, but soon he'll realise it's not.

       "Bastard!" Koujaku growls, rage boiling up higher and hotter within him, and on his back and over his right shoulder blade. He feels hot all over from the surging anger that just hearing the name "Ryuuhou" fills him with, and he's had to try to deal with it since that awful time.

 _"Be careful not to let your emotions get the better of you. You might hurt yourself—or better yet, someone."_ Ryuuhou had warned him back then before the night became the awful memory that haunts him, before he really understood what he meant. He's sounded strangely amused, so it baffled Koujaku for a while. Until a disagreement with his father—about the ill-treatment and lack of freedom concerning his mother—left him in a sour mood; aching to throw traditional glassware and even rip out his own hair, it left him wanting to fight back.

        So he did. Something hard, sharp and the colour of a ruby poked out of his shoulder blade and encased his arm. It frightened him at first, he looked at it, screaming bloody murder as he wondered _"Why?"_ and _"What the hell am I?"_. And he became angrier, realising it was all down to Ryuuhou, whom he'd met through the strict conditions his father had placed on his mother and he, against their desires to be un-involved. He thought some more and realised _more_ and became angry in a hasty cycle, and raised his arm with a strangled scream and winded up murdering his entire family, his mother who was so precious to him and he to her.

        Koujaku ejects the same weapon as he stands now; hard, sharp, ruby colored and reflecting, his kagune: Koukaku.

        "Oh?" Ryuuhou looks amazed by it; eyebrows up and his mouth a circle. "Wow. It's just as beautiful as I remember, your kagune, Koukaku."

        Koujaku, straight faced, retorts, "It'll look better piercing the place your heart never was."

        "So you plan to kill me? Tsk, tsk, remember what I said to you--"

        "Shut up already!" Koujaku snaps. He doesn't need the likes of _him_ forewarning him again after the shitty job he did the first time.

       Ryuuhou smiles, unfased by the outburst and he's happy to go on provoking—the equivalency to dancing on eggshells and being daring enough to play with a fire. "Careful now. You might want to keep your temper under wraps. Would't want your past to repeat itself."

        Koujaku knows exactly what he's doing _but it's working_. "You fucking bastard....Don't even think of--"

        "And I'm sure we wouldn't you murdering another family ey, _mother killer_?"

        "DON'T SAY IT!!!" Salt and vinegar to the open wound yank away what's left of Koujaku's restraint and he rushes forward with one main intent in mind.

Ryuuhou stays and he laughs and he isn't the least bit sorry and he's welcoming the rushing attack with open arms. Koujaku pulls back his kagune to then shoot forward; it's a direct hit, connecting to skin and ripping it apart, blood leaks from it. It's in so deep there's not a chance Ryuuhou can live passed choking on his blood, the nausea or the immense pain. But at the same time, he enjoys it, wanted it so much because it's like a gift from his favourite work of art, the last he's dealt in. But even with him dead, even after he slides down against the aisle he smudges his blood against too and dies on his side, it's still not enough.

       The rage keeps boiling. Koujaku's vision of the library distorts into darkness and red like before. He can't see or hear anything that isn't his tragic memory or Ryuuhou, and the combination of both is like a continuous headache and it strips him of his senses and pushes him towards insanity; he goes beserk and feels himself transform. The tips of his hair dye the colour of his vision and grow in length, his upper-body clothing shreds to pieces, and as he opens his mouth to let out a cry he feels fangs protrude. 

        It's an out-of-the-blue appearance, Aoba coming from the corner of the aisle behind what's going on, a little out of breath. He ran after hearing Koujaku shout (and though worried, he was happy to leave just as the librarian could fetch a fourth binder). "Koujaku, what's—" The words suck back into his mouth as he gasps. He's stepped in to a situation he can't—he doesn't even know—is that a teacher bleeding on the floor? Any syllable he wants to make won't come out, he already knows. But he needs them to when he sees the state of his best friend. "...K-K...Kouj-jak-ku...?!"

An instant whip of the head and Koujaku's facing the direction of the familiar voice, although in his state he can't understand why it sounds familiar. However, he hears something, and it adds to his pain that seems endless.

        Koukaku flicks out and injects into the stomach underneath the navy sweater, and it's like time freezes.

        "....!" Noiz isn't far behind and sees everything, stunned into making an unfamiliar expression of alarm and disbelief.

      "..K-K...hghn...Kou..."Aoba struggles to speak. He slowly cranes his neck south to look at the damaged area. He sees what's happened, sees the blood, feels the pain and dizzy, but he can't--doesn't get why--the fact that he's been stabbed by his best friend turned ghoul....but in a small way, he isn't all that surprised. He _is_ , but...

       Koujaku growls dangerously before he raises his kagune that's still impaling his friend and flicks it across, throwing Aoba to the opposite side of the aisle and at the center of the book case. Books fall and the shelf threatens to tip with a deep rattle. The public in the library only begin to panic, hushed concerns and startled cries exchanging from many sides of the large establishment, and then someone—likely a teacher—trying to calm them enough to escort them out as safe and fast as possible.  _'There's a ghoul in the library. There's a ghoul in the library. In the library of the college on the small, once peaceful island, there's a ghoul!'_ they simultaneously chant in their heads. 

       "...Oi, are you—!" Noiz is about to try for a response from his injured senior but freezes at the sound of Koujaku's growl—a warning for him to realise the focus is on him now.  _Shit_ , so what does this mean? What's his next move supposed to be? The _senior_ senior already hated his guts but far as his experience with ghouls goes, he's _screwed_. He takes a steady step back, Koujaku follows. He looks over at the limp Aoba and Koujaku's lifting his arm again. He's stuck, but he isn't scared—or he doesn't want to get to that stage. Noiz makes eye contact with the heavy gave and dares to smirk, "Heh, guess you're more than just some ancient bore."

'Ancient bore' rings familiarity in Koujaku's head like it did with Aoba's voice and he grabs Noiz, quick and roughly, and holds him up by his throat with one hand while his kagune waits in the air, at the ready.

        Aoba's clutching his stomach and struggling to breathe, luckily not yet unconscious. He's desperate to put his bloody state aside for a moment so he can try and better the situation—to do anything. Through half-lidded eyes he watches his junior struggle in mid-air, legs kicking about in the hopes of landing a hit on the transformed man he's in the clutches of. If he doesn't do anything then Noiz will—! "Aaah! H-ghk...N-Noi—ah!" He's trying to crawl over to them and every move, no matter how careful, makes the open wound hurt more. There's an ache in his head trying to put him under a lull, but what if he doesn't wake up again? What if Koujaku disappears? What if Noiz goes away too?

He definitely doesn't want a single thing on this island to change.

       Aoba keeps crawling. The closer he gets the better view he has of what his best friend has become. Aoba studies the difference, in horror, and all at once his mind recalls what he's learned about ghouls:

_Fangs._

He remembers a reporter on tv saying, " _Ghouls can undergo a transformation deadlier than when they're in their neutral state."_

       "K-Koujaku...." Aoba says as he uses his arm to move again. His eyes travel to the distorted arm and he remembers more.

_Kagune._

"T _hey can produce weapons. Each vary in size and speed and attack power, but make no mistake, a single hit from any of them will cost your life."_

      "Kou...Koujaku..." Aoba shakily calls out to his friend again. He reflects on Koujaku being distant and the strain it put on their relationship, along with how he'd noticed Koujaku wasn't eating the foods he usually scoffed shamelessly in a heartbeat. He thinks back to when he returned to Koujaku's apartment and how it concluded his suspicions; the coughing, the rejected doughnuts—he wouldn't sit by him at first.

In his head now, he hears a reporter on a cooking show mention, _"Ghouls are unable to digest normal food. Stews, sandwiches, the meals they loved once won't taste the same any longer. It's been said they're only able to tolerate coffee."_

_Differences..._

       "Koujaku," Aoba murmurs, sadly. Tears surface at the corner of his eyes from the pain of his stomach and from the pain of not saving Koujaku. All this time, he thought gathering information meant he would figure out how to save him but he hasn't. He had a feeling but he didn't push his luck and approach Koujaku like he would've been better off doing, so he wouldn't feel so helpless right now!

This Koujaku right in front of him....Aoba doesn't want to say he's unrecognizable.

        _'It hurts'_. the college senior thinks. He's closer than ever now, right at their feet. "K-Koujaku!" He calls again, this time with a hand reaching up, shakily, trying to grasp a leg for attention. "N-No, stop it..." He says again, begging, hoping, wanting more than anything. He whimpers when one last crawl has the carpet scratching against his wound harder than before. "KOUJAKU....STOP!"

Noiz struggles in the deadly grip, sticks his nails into the skin of the hand latching onto his neck. He coughs and knows breathing is becoming harder each time he tries to get away. He won't know how much dying by this ghoul will hurt—Koujaku isn't a friend. But to Aoba, to a guy he's only recently met but for some reason doesn't particularly dislike, it's going to hurt in ways he can't ever imagine.

He just needs to _get away_.

He needs to breathe but he _can't_.

Everything is darkening.

       Koukaku heads his way just as wind whips against his face and something cracks—he hears a slash, jolts, hears another, jolts again and sees a torn piece of his shirt go by, and then he's released from the grip and his body hits the floor with a thick thud. Lying on his back with his blood spilling out and thickening around him, he hears students screaming and hears a rush of boots as people wearing suits and long coats crowd the library. And before everything totally fades to black, he hears his name again, and just barely, he can see Aoba crying over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 22:17 and I'm so relieved. Thanks for reading this far if you have, I hope it's a nice read and that it continues (✿◠‿◠) ). The a/n this time is a bit long but please bare with me:
> 
> \- Mizuki's really having his share of hard times, poor bae. But he's a cheapskate since chuhai can be bought as a canned drink, pass it on (─‿‿─).
> 
> \- Like 'Ken Hibiki', I wanted his co-anchorwoman's name to mean something & spent time researching names I felt suited "Midorijima's hope and truth of tomorrow"; a sincere, honest woman who doesn't just go along with any and everything ghoul related she hears. So, apparently: 'Asu' (あす) means 'tomorrow', 'ki' (気) means 'care/hope', ('suzu' (鈴) means 'bell), and 'ma' means real/true. 
> 
> \- Koujaku, sorry, it's not personal. This way, he comes out as the great (stupid) friend since he didn't reveal anything to keep Aoba safe. I spent time mostly on writing their scene together, wondering how it should go, but things were weird enough and they wanted things to be normal. Ah, then there was the doughnut scene....plus, vomiting onomatopoeia is strange ✍(─◡─"). 
> 
> \- I don't read the TG manga and that's fine. I researched about Kagune's and imo Koujaku fits a Koukaku (Say it five times, fast; Koujaku's koukaku, Koujaku's koukaku, Koujaku's kou—) since he carries a big sword and that looks heavy like this type of kagune is. And I don't really ever write fight scenes either since I generally write in the rom/com/dram genre (I fucking wrote too much and I'm embarrassed by everything ;-;), but I'd be satisfied as long as it wasn't a cluster of something like _"He smacked him but the other guy dodged and did a spinning kick in the air before launching a rasengan."_ (lol).
> 
> \- Ryuuhou as a teacher, he'd be the really nice and eager-to-help with assignments over a cup of coffee before or after school kind; creepy!  
>    
> ...Can you say 'bloody cliffhanger'?


End file.
